“They said that they are looking for you. A million dollars for any agent who brings you in alive.”
“Did they say why?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
The man conversed with the woman.
“Someone high up wants you,” the man responded.
“Oh,” I tried to act shocked.
“You need to leave town,” the man told me. “Stay away from immigrant communities. These people are coming after us to get to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just go. Be safe,” he said. “And stay as far away from us as possible.”
I left an hour later. So the President was sending agents across the country trying to find me. That means he doesn’t know where I am. That’s good.
But it doesn’t leave me many options.
I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what I’m going to do for money. I’m going to have to live in the woods like a hermit.
I don’t think I’m capable of that.
Oh, I could go to the press. Have them tell my story.
But who would believe it? The only people who could back me up would be my ex-wife and her friends. I doubt any of them would want to go in front of the world and say, “Yes, I whacked him off and it made me 10 years younger.”
They definitely wouldn’t.
I don’t have any options.
I don’t want to go back.
I don’t think I can survive off the grid.
I don’t want to eat bugs.